


Greasy Uncle Max Looks After the Kids

by orphan_account



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 17:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21103556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's Cathy and Jack's anniversary on Friday and they turn to Maxwell to look after Wendy, along with her friend, for the weekend.





	Greasy Uncle Max Looks After the Kids

Maxwell awoke to the sound of his cellphone chirping out a tune as it buzzed away. He could’ve sworn he’d already turned off the alarm... He searched for his phone, patting the sheets and blanket down for the device until he found it in a crease of his leopard print duvet. He squinted at the name displayed on the screen and groaned, this was much worse than any alarm. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair before accepting the call and switching on speakerphone. He set the phone back down on a pillow beside him.

"Hey, Jack."

“Good evening, Maxwell,” his brother greeted him “How have you been?”

Maxwell paused and tapped a finger against his chin. He was pondering what to respond with: a sarcastic response or a very sarcastic response. He decided to go with the former. Jack always meant well, didn't he? He was just a bit dense at times. After knowing Max for his entire life, (on account of them being brothers and Jack being slightly younger,) you'd think he might catch onto the fact Max hated being asked 'how he was,' especially right now. In the last two years, Max couldn't think of a single instance where he would've answered with 'I've been good,' and been honest. “Peachy, _just peachy_. What d’ya want, Jack?”

“Straight to business, hm?" Why else would Jack ever call him? He only ever "checked in" anymore when he needed something, usually desperately, since Max wasn't exactly the most reliable out of Jack's seemingly endless social circle. "Well, I, uh, _we_ would appreciate if you watched the girls tomorrow night—” he fell silent for a few seconds, recognizing his mistake, his voice faltered "Sorry- if you watched Wendy, I mean. I regret needing to ask this of you, Max, really, I do... however, our usual sitter is down with the flu.”

“That’s unfortunate and sorry to hear that, Jack... but I’m busy tomorrow. Isn’t there anyone else you can call? Winona’d probably take her if you asked.”

“No you are not, I know you aren't,” Jack said, sounding clearly agitated. Jack knew Maxwell didn't have anything going on, when did he ever? He took a deep breath in, before exhaling. He knew that being short with his brother wouldn’t get him anywhere, so he composed himself and continued “Listen, I- we will pay you.” Maxwell raised a brow “Catherine and I have already checked with everyone we could think of and they're all busy tomorrow night. And- it's our anniversary. So, please, Maxwell. I would really, _really_ appreciate it if you could do this for us. I'm sure it would be nice to see Wendy again too, for the both of you, she was just saying the other day how—"

“Alright, alright, fine."

“Wonderful! Thank you so much, Maxwell! I really cannot stress how grateful we are that you're doing this. I will be over to drop the kids off tomorrow at noon," another awkward pause "Oh— sorry, I nearly forgot to mention that Wendy wanted to bring her friend, Georgie, along. Is- is that alright by you?”

Of course he forgot to mention there'd be another kid coming over until he'd already agreed, _of course_. “Sure thing, Jack, but, uh," he looked around at his room, eyes flitting from side to side before resting on a stain on the wall, "Do you mind if I pick them up?”

“Of course! I mean, I don't- I don’t mind at all, that’s very considerate of you, really.” Considerate. Max could've rolled his eyes. He was more concerned about keeping Jack and Cathy from seeing the state of things at casa de la Max than whether or not they were able to get to their dinner on time, or at all for that matter. He didn't need them to stand on his doorstep and awkwardly try to make conversation or put on a smile and tell him how delightfully "homely" his place was, or how beautiful the backyard could be, if he'd just put some more effort into it.

“Alright, swell, I should get back to...” Maxwell glanced at a novelty cat clock on the wall for reference, it was around 6:50 pm “... Dinner. I’m making dinner, In fact, I think I can smell something burning, so I’ll need to let you go, Jack,” he muttered a quick goodbye and dropped the call. Right, the kitchen. That was another thing. It was mildly relieving that with him picking up the kids, Jack wouldn't have an opportunity to lecture him on how the dishes ought to be done, or the garbage taken out, or the carpets cleaned, specifically the carpet in the living room with the huge burgundy stain on it. Which, to be fair, it's not as if he didn't try to get it out. He did, he just didn't try very hard, and that was an important distinction to make.

Still, if he was going to have these kids over, Maxwell knew he should still tidy up a bit. But that's all he would do, tidy. Jack's standards of cleanliness were too high, was all. His brother cleaned his house as though if he couldn't see his reflection in any given surface, it was a sign that the end times were near. Like a shittier version of Groundhog Day, with Jack as the fat rat looking for his reflection in the glass surfaces instead of his shadow to determine whether or not the world would end. Looking at the clock again, he could hardly believe that it was nearly 7 pm. After all, he usually slept for at least another hour. The novelty cat clock's eyes and tail moved from side to side. Shifty fuck. As handy as being able to look up and tell the time was... that cat didn't know its place and it was probably plotting against him while he slept, biding its time before it made its move.

Dragging his skeletal frame out of bed, and grabbing his glasses off of the nightstand he headed to the kitchen to go and make some evening breakfast. He would at the very least clean the kitchen while he was up, as soon as he'd gotten something to eat. The fridge and pantry were... lacking, but not bare. There was enough here for a meal. A single egg, enough cereal for at least half a bowl, and a carton of milk past its expiry date. The question was not whether or not it was spoiled-- taking a whiff of it, it was definitely spoiled, but rather the question that needed to be posed was _how_ spoiled it was. A half a bowl of cereal and a single fried egg later and Maxwell had determined that he probably shouldn't have put that on his cereal, he could've just eaten his half a bowl of cereal without the curdled milk; woulda, coulda, shoulda.

Food was still food, that's what Maxwell told himself. That meal gave him enough energy to do a load of dishes and feed his cat, Poppy, before he needed to go have a lie down on the couch due to a sudden onset of nausea. He regretted leaving his phone on the bed, he'd have to go to sleep without checking to make sure his email inbox was empty, as it almost always was, save for the occasional spam email that slipped through Hotmail's subpar filter or to see whether or not Charlie had texted him. She had not, but Max couldn't have known that for sure without checking for himself. Lethargy got the best of him, saving him that disappointment, at least for the time being.


End file.
